


Resonating Thoughts

by unicorngirl



Series: Resonating Hearts [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, Charles Getting Uncomfortable, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Erik Being Cocky, Gen, M/M, Soul Eater Fusion, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicorngirl/pseuds/unicorngirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik and Charles take on a new mission while juggling school and teenage drama. Charles is confused and Erik is a jerk.</p><p>or</p><p>Sometimes, Erik was easier to read than a Dr. Seuss book. Other times? It was like the two of them spoke different languages. And Erik was fluent in asshole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this is a fusion with the anime Soul Eater. For those of you who stumbled onto this with no knowledge of Soul Eater - Soul Eater is an anime set in a universe where students learn to fight in pairs. One person works as the 'meister' (fighter) while the other one physically transforms into a weapon for the other. Hijinks ensue.

Charles leaned forward and sighed at the complicated sentences covering the large chalkboard at the front of the class. He sat near enough that he actually had to crane his neck to view the itty bitty words scrawled illegibly across the top. Professor Platt always got long winded towards the end of the week, and the last hour had been an exercise in mental concentration.

He copied the words diligently and listened to the excited rambling of Platt as the man paced the room. The professor gestured wildly with his hands and underlined a sentence that was one hundred percent unreadable. There was a smudge of chalk on his dark suit and his hair looked as if he had stuck his finger into a light socket.

At least Platt was passionate about the subject, and smart enough to keep Charles interested. 

The lecture series had been his favorite thus far; Charles had even read all of the secondary sources twice. His textbooks were filled with notes written in the margins and entire chapters were highlighted and underlined. They would be unsellable by the end of the year. Even now, they were useless to everyone but him. But Charles wouldn’t want to give the books up, even if they did fill up a significant portion of his apartment. The texts contained so much fascinating information on weapons and meisters. 

Every aspect of it was intriguing. There were some families with generation after generation of weapons and meisters and other individuals who were the first in their family’s history. Most duos would spend their entire lives working together.

And the best part? Everyone chose their partner before puberty, like it was some sort of game. As children they’d all been crammed together for a meet-and-greet and picked, some recklessly and without any forethought, the person who would be most influential during their formative years. The person who they would literally show their soul to.

There was no predestination involved, no destiny; it was luck and chance. Platt going through the statistics, dissecting just how much the decision could impact a person's future despite their background and other influences, was fascinating.

Charles’ own memory of the event consisted of a name tag, flat punch, and nervous adults mingling at the edges of the room. 

Erik found the entire subject nauseatingly boring; Charles had noticed from the beginning of the week. His weapon had rolled his eyes in the first hour of the first lecture and proceeded to spend the rest of the week passing notes with Azazel and playing games on his phone. 

If Platt was less of an airhead Erik would have been sentenced to detention days ago. 

By the time the bell sounded, Charles’ sleeves were pushed up high around his elbows and his hands and forearms were stained from resting against pen filled pages. His world had narrowed down to the deteriorating lecture and he jumped at the unexpected noise.

Next to him Erik laughed and stood, stretching his hands up above his head. 

“Charles, you can’t expect to decipher all of Platt’s notes. Not even he could repeat most of them.”

Charles ignored him, furiously finishing. It was true there were confusing run on sentences that he couldn’t quite understand, but that wasn’t the point. Charles always copied the board before leaving class. Even if he had to make up large portions of it. Always.

Around him students filtered out. He could feel Erik above him. The teen leaned forward until his breath tickled at Charles’ ear. “Fine. Be a good little student.”

Erik wandered away, hands in his pockets, and stopped near Azazel and Janos. The jeans he wore barely hung on his slim hips. Charles looked pointedly away and automatically reached up towards his ear. Erik’s breath had been hot against his skin.

Janos spoke in a barely audible voice and Erik chuckled. 

“What did you think?” A nearby voice interjected.

Charles pulled his eyes away from the three and rotated his sore wrist automatically. Moira stood next to him in a pair of slim dark pants; the pen she’d shoved in her messy bun was just visible over the top of her head. 

She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Of Platt’s lecture.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck.

“I think that Platt’s theory on soul resonance with long term partners is spot on. Have you gotten the chance to look through the formative research he’s done on partner work in Chile?” Charles stood, ignored the pins and needles feeling in his legs, and gathered his things. "I mean, the idea of a weapon having a heart attack and their partner feeling it miles away is amazing."

“Charles,” Moira gave a long suffering sigh, “no one but you has looked through the pages and pages in his office. I don’t even think I could find them under the piles of coffee cups and car magazines.”

“Well, I needed them for a paper.” He shrugged in embarrassment and added lamely. “Are you guys going out tonight?”

Though they were the same age, Moira had a no nonsense attitude that could rival a seventy five year old politician. Her dark hair and pretty face could only fool a person for so long. She was smart, ruthless as a meister, and had a sharp tongue that had made Platt tear up on several occasions.

“No, Sean got us sentenced to remedial lessons. Again.” She rolled her eyes and made an offhand gesture to her partner. 

The red headed weapon was slouched over his desk, deep asleep. Earlier in class he’d gotten scolded for snoring. Charles didn’t know how Moira hadn’t murdered him yet. The two were like oil and water. 

“So, in retaliation, he has to take me out to Pear Bay and write a paper for me on ways to respect your partner. One thousand words with sources.” 

“Pear Bay?” Charles stared wide eyed. “I thought they were booked up for months. And aren’t they like, insanely expensive?”

She smiled and said nothing. He laughed. 

“What about you two? Are you all healed up?” Moira raised her eyebrows innocently.

“It’s fine.” He responded hotly and crossed his arms. “I swear, I wish you would all just drop it.”

“You’re just lucky you didn’t get seriously injured. Honestly, you two need to be more careful.” Her voice rose slightly as she hit her lecturing stride. She leaned against his desk. “Just because she was low level doesn’t mean you need to take chances. And you two were in that filthy rundown warehouse. You could have gotten a terrible infection.”

“I know.” His shoulders hunched automatically and he looked at Erik. “Erik has been a bear.”

“He should have taken better care of you.” She responded. “Of course he’s being difficult. He feels guilty. Your partner is supposed to watch out for you.”

Across the room, Erik’s head swiveled at his name. Charles was certain the teenager was too far to hear what was being said, but he frowned at the two of them. Moira and Erik had hated each other on sight and Charles had given up trying to find out why.

“Don’t be like that. I don’t like you talking about him that way.” He defended, hackles rising. “Look, I have to go. Do you still want to get coffee on Sunday?”

She nodded and her frown melted. “Don’t be mad at me, okay? I was just worried about you. You are usually so careful.”

“I’m not mad,” he answered stiffly, “really.” Charles softened his tone. “Look, you better go collect Sean.”

Behind them, Sean slipped forward until one of his hands hung over the edge of his desk. He’d started to drool. She looked at her partner with a mixture of fondness and frustration. “Yes, I had better. I’ll see you Sunday.”

Moira left with a sigh and a friendly squeeze to his arm. 

Charles crossed the room to Erik’s side quickly. Janos and Azazel were still deep in discussion and barely acknowledged his approach. 

“What did she want?” Erik stepped away from the others. His eyes narrowed.

“Nothing.” Charles patiently replied. “We’re just planning for coffee. Let’s get out of here.”

Erik gave Moira’s retreating back a glare before turning back to him. “Fine.”

The two of them meandered down long halls and past empty rooms. Students filtered out from classrooms and loitered. Near the entryway, a huge board covered with papers and pins filled most of the wall.

Missions were posted on it every Wednesday and Friday and Charles couldn't remember a time the board wasn't jammed full. Professor Platt had emphasized more than once that as a weapon and meister, books would only get you so far. Two or three teens stood in front of it chatting animatedly and pointing to various sheets.

“Did you pull ours down?” Charles asked, craning his head to look at the board as they passed.

Outside the sun was bright against the pavement. Students sat on park benches and loitered in the small school lot. Charles automatically tilted his head back to soak in the warmth. The heat wave had broken three days ago and the weather was once again bearable.

“Yes, I took it down.” Erik reached in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. He slid a pair of sunglasses onto his face. “Azazel was pissed. I guess he wanted it.”

Charles grabbed it from him and smoothed out the paper. On it, a short description and address were written in small print. He folded it carefully after rereading it.

“Well, he should have gotten on it earlier. When should we go? Platt warned me that the Mancini family has been snooping around.”

“The Mancinis?” Erik swung a leg over his haphazardly parked bike and handed Charles his helmet. “Those assholes usually stick to petty crime.”

Charles climbed on after him and held on tightly. 

“Well, I guess they’re trying to enter the big boys’ club.” He leaned with the bike as they took a turn out of the lot. “And a witch’s soul would make them an actual threat.”

Erik made an approving noise and nodded his head. “Then early tomorrow is best. Before anyone else has the chance.”

The meister tightened his hands on Erik’s hips and made a noise of agreement. He hated getting up early on the weekends, but it was imperative they get to the witch before anyone else. 

The worn apartment building they lived in was tucked just off of the main road. The tan stucco outside was dreary and most of the balconies were filled with sad looking half dead potted plants. 

Besides the two of them, the majority of tenants were old married couples who constantly brought by cookies and casseroles. One week, when they’d been low on cash, they’d survived on stale gingersnaps and an unidentifiable hot-dish. 

It hadn’t been pretty.

Between them, Erik’s phone vibrated in his back pocket and Charles jumped. The meister shifted at the tickling sensation. He gritted his teeth in embarrassment and moved again. Charles was thankful that Erik couldn’t see the red on his face. 

It didn’t matter that he could be calm and cool while on the battlefield. In social situations, it was a miracle that he didn’t trip over his own feet and stutter like a two year old. His teenage body was determined to react, even if it was a phone set to vibrate

Blushing fiercely, he repositioned himself as far back as he could on the motorcycle and jumped off as soon as Erik slowed enough to pull into their parking lot.

“Erik, your phone should have been off at school.” He blustered and shifted his backpack awkwardly to cover his front. He wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. 

Erik raised an eyebrow and parked. “So?” 

“Just, you need to follow the rules!” Charles answered and turned away. “You can’t just do what you want.” 

He ignored Erik’s bewildered face and stalked away.

Behind him, Erik made a noise of frustration before answering his phone and speaking in rapid German. His familiar accented voice seemed to grow lower when he spoke his native tongue, and the smaller teen couldn’t help but listen even as he crossed the parking lot. The words were half familiar and rolled over him. 

Charles opened the door and toed out of his shoes before throwing his bag on the couch. The apartment still smelled like the Chinese they’d ordered in the night before.

“Mother – ” Erik said in English. 

The string of words on the other end of the phone was loud enough that even from across the room Charles could hear them. 

The older teen dragged a hand through his short hair. 

He knew Erik’s mother was a force to be reckoned with. She was famous in the school, a meister who had taken out five witches with her partner, Erik’s dad, in one night. Charles had read about her as a child. She was an inspiration.

And, as Charles knew from personal experience, the best cook he had ever met and a damn good mom.

Erik said something else into the phone and retreated down the hall towards his bedroom.

By the time he reappeared, Charles had settled on the couch, dragged out two of his textbooks, and flipped on the television. 

He chewed absentmindedly on the end of a pen and stooped over a book. Charles had bobby pinned back his bangs, undone the top three buttons of his shirt, and drank from a steaming cup of tea. Over the arm of the couch his cardigan had been haphazardly thrown. In the trash was an empty half gallon of chocolate mint ice cream he'd finished up.

Erik wandered into the kitchen and opened the oven. The smell of pizza filled the apartment.

“Pizza again?” Erik commiserated. He sat down next to Charles with a loud sigh and kicked his feet up onto the books spread out across the coffee table. Charles rolled his eyes.

“You disappeared and I’m hungry. Besides, someone forgot to go grocery shopping again.” He kept the pout out of his voice and pulled the book he had been referencing free. “And get your dirty socks off my books.”

Erik shifted and brought his legs around so that they sprawled over Charles’ lap. He smiled cockily and stole the remote.

“What are you watching?” He flipped the channel without waiting for a reply. “There’s hockey on tonight.”

Charles sighed and leaned his head back so that he could stare up at the ceiling. They lived in a desert. A flaming hot miserable landscape that rarely saw even rain. 

How his partner had gotten so obsessed with a sport that took place on ice, he had no idea. Erik willingly paid extra for the obscure stations that aired every game known to man.

And Erik thought it was silly that Charles got caught up in bad reality television.

Erik stilled after that, focus one hundred percent on the screen, and only moved once the timer for the pizza went off. Charles flipped through his book and used Erik’s legs as an impromptu desk. Outside the air darkened and eventually Charles rubbed at his eyes and closed the textbook.

“Hey.” Erik’s voice cut through the low murmur of commentators. Charles blinked owlishly. His partner’s eyes remained on the screen. “Mom wants to know if you’re coming out for Thanksgiving.”

Charles turned and watched Erik’s profile. He fought back a wave of mortification and glanced down. The words were nonchalant, purposely so. He wondered if Erik had said something to his mom about Charles’ home life. The idea was humiliating.

“I guess. I mean,” Charles fought a stammer, “if you don’t think I’ll be in the way. Raven and I are hanging out in the morning but she has plans in the afternoon. I can ask my Mom if it's okay.”

Erik nodded. “Sounds good. And if Raven's plans change, she can come too.”

Charles tried to dismiss the wave of self loathing that washed over him whenever he thought of the large manor he’d grown up in. It was impossible to imagine a holiday away from his tipsy mother, loud step-father, and casually cruel step-brother. His fingers automatically clenched and he pushed down at the flash of hatred that filled him. 

It was no wonder his real father traveled. Even the fact that Charles needed him and was a meister, like him, wasn’t enough to make his father stay. More proof that he really was the awful child his mother claimed he was.

“Hey.” Erik cuffed him on the back of his head. “Stop thinking. You’re ruining the game.”

Charles settled more comfortably into the couch and tucked his head to the side. “Fine. Watch your idiotic game. You still owe me a marathon. And you’re going to have to do your homework sometime.”

“Shhhhhh.” Erik responded, putting a finger to his lips. 

“You are such a smart ass.” Charles retorted.

“Shhhhhh.”

In retaliation, Charles tickled the feet in front of him. Erik shouted and kicked and twisted like an angry cat trying to get away. The couch thudded loudly against the wall and Erik rolled off the furniture with a dull thud. 

Charles watched, wide eyed, before breaking out into laughter. He chuckled and chortled as Erik got his elbows under him. His eyes narrowed and Charles didn’t have time to dodge as Erik grabbed at his legs and pulled. 

He tipped forward, book falling from his lap even as he automatically tried to catch himself on his hands. His legs tangled with Erik’s and he landed on Erik’s hard chest. Still laughing, he let his arms relax until his full body weight rested against Erik. 

“You are such a jerk.” Charles chuckled against the shirt. Under him, Erik’s laughter rumbled out low and steady.

“And you are such a dork. Tickling? What are you, seven?” Erik brought a hand up to ruffle Charles’ hair. His hands were warm against the back of his head. This close Charles could smell the soap Erik preferred. 

He shifted his weight and readied another snappy retort, when Erik abruptly pushed at Charles.

“Up.” He said gruffly, pushing at Charles’ hips. The meister moved automatically, fighting to stand without bracing himself awkwardly on his partner. “I said up, Charles.”

“I’m trying.” Charles responded with a huff. How they moved seamlessly as meister and weapon, but couldn’t even sit on a couch together was ridiculous. If only they could communicate telepathically when they weren't resonating. 

The sudden frustration in Erik’s voice hurt. Why had he gotten so mad all of a sudden? Charles pushed himself up and onto his knees. Under him, Erik frowned and brought a hand up as if to help. Charles shrugged it off in annoyance. “I’m moving.”

Erik sighed and let his forearm fall over his eyes. "Move then."

Charles climbed off in unexpected humiliation. He didn’t understand why Erik was suddenly so mad. Erik was the one who had started it. Weren’t they just horsing around? Erik had teased him more than once that he needed to loosen up. 

“Well,” he stood next to Erik’s tense form, “I’m heading to bed. Whenever you want to stop being an ass, let me know.” 

Never mind that it was only just after eight or that Charles never went to bed without a cup of chamomile tea. Erik said nothing.

He stomped down the hall and shut the door behind him with a bang. Fine, Erik could be a huge dick. Charles didn’t care. He sprawled out face first on his bed. 

He shouted loudly into the worn comforter under him until he couldn’t breathe and his lungs started to painfully burn. It was a trick he’d learned while growing up with a mother who didn’t like to hear or see him. Only when he started to get dizzy did he shift his head. 

He rolled to his side and brought up his legs. As in synch as he and Erik were, it still surprised him how much the other teen was a mystery. Sometimes, Erik was easier to read than a Dr. Seuss book. Other times? It was like the two of them spoke different languages. And Erik was fluent in asshole.

“Charles?” 

Erik’s voice was muffled on the other side of the door. Charles kept stubbornly quiet and curled in tighter. If he was lucky the other boy would give up and leave him in peace. Erik knocked once before entering. 

“Charles?” His name was spoken in a whisper soft voice; he ignored it.

Erik easily navigated the dark room and climbed up on the bed next to him. The bed dipped with his added weight and Charles naturally shifted towards him.

The weapon sprawled out next to the shorter man. The weight of Erik’s hand on Charles’ arm was uncomfortably personal in the dark room.

“I just don’t get it.” Charles broke his silence. “Why are you mad at me? I thought we were joking around.”

Charles was sure that it was his own hang ups that made the idea of Erik mad at him so disheartening. Erik was one of the few people that he could always count on. And the fact that Erik knew that made it all the more aggravating.

Erik sighed loudly and shifted. “Are you going to face me?”

Charles said nothing but shook his head.

“Charles. You are the communicator in this relationship.”

The smaller teen gritted his teeth and hunched his shoulders. He was being petty and refused to feel guilty about it.

Moments later, the bed shifted and Erik wrapped his lanky form around Charles’ back. His frame was warm and Charles shivered. He closed his eyes and felt Erik’s forehead as it connected with the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Erik spoke quietly into the nape of Charles’ neck. “You…” His voice stuttered for a second before starting up again. He sounded nothing like the smooth talking bad boy he was. “When you landed on me, I got… surprised… I just don’t…” Charles’ brow furrowed. What was he saying? “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, that’s all.” He finished lamely.

“You didn’t.” Charles replied, his hand reaching to grasp one of Erik’s. “I wasn’t. And you aren’t making sense. You make me uncomfortable all the time. It's one of your favorite things to do.”

Erik released a puff of air. “I know it doesn't make sense. I’m sorry that I was a jerk.”

Charles lay still as his anger drained out of him. He wasn’t sure what had caused Erik’s fury. Charles tucked an arm under his head. Now, if only Erik would tell him what he was thinking.

“Well, do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Erik’s clipped voice cut into all the arguments Charles’ had formed.

“Fine.” He responded. “Are you going to leave then?”

The other teen didn’t respond, but shook his head 'no' against Charles. 

With a sigh, Charles’ let himself relax into the mattress. “Okay. But feel free to not use me as a pillow.”

Erik snorted. “No promises.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik confront a man and a witch.
> 
> OR
> 
> This was the true power of a strong partnership; two souls acting as one. Charles felt as if he could destroy worlds.

Charles increased his gait and resisted the urge to vocally curse Erik’s long legs for the thousandth time. Erik walked several yards in front of him, hands in his pockets, as he easily outpaced the shorter teen. Charles was certain the weapon was doing it on purpose.

It wasn’t his fault he’d managed to get into the shower before Erik and use up all the hot water. Charles had dealt with knees and elbows digging periodically into him throughout the night. He had deserved a nice leisurely scrub. 

The early morning air was warm enough that his hair stuck uncomfortably to the back of his neck. It seemed another heat wave was fast approaching and he was already looking forward to a cooler fall. 

“Erik,” Charles finally gave in, “slow down.”

Erik made an exasperated noise and stopped. He looked backwards and raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t give me that.” He waved his hands as if to encompass Erik’s entirely too purposeful indifference. “Next time just get up earlier. You know I don’t keep track of hot water or anything like that.”

He caught up to Erik and the two of them ducked onto a heavily wooded driveway. Unnatural trees grew tall and were covered in thick dark leaves that seemed impervious to the scorching sun. The shade was cool and Charles breathed it in.

“Really? Do you have to be so spoiled? You are such a brat.” Erik glanced at him and Charles fought a blush.

“Am not.” He sulkily answered at the familiar complaint. 

“Of course you’re not. I’m amazed that you somehow were even awake before me.”

Charles shrugged and averted his eyes. “So what, it does happen occasionally. Besides, you’re elbows are bony.”

“What? What do my elbows have to do with anything? You’re the one who always steals the covers and talks nonsense in his sleep. And nine times out of ten, I’m dragging your sorry ass out of bed. How someone so lazy can get such good grades is a mystery.”

Charles could actually count the amount of times he’d been up before Erik on one hand. Last night, however, the problem hadn’t just been Erik tossing and turning. Charles had lain awake for most of the night and finally crawled out of bed simply because he couldn't handle his racing thoughts anymore.  


He sniffed loudly. “It’s not my fault you refuse to apply all of your intelligence. You do well enough on the practical exams.”

The path this far up was secluded. Erik kicked a rock as they walked and it clicked against the pavement loudly. No one else was on the road; it was well known that a witch lived here. 

“You and I both know that most of the written exams don’t help nearly enough out in the real world. I’m just putting my energy towards what really matters.”

Charles rolled his eyes. It had been clear from the moment Erik had woken up that the two of them would not be discussing last night. Which, as Charles kept reminding himself, was fine.

A large home came into view as they meandered further. It seemed to be cobbled together from several different houses, and was a mix of brick, siding, and stone. There were huge glass windows and the front door was painted red. A motorcycle was parked haphazardly out front.

From where he stood, Charles could feel the jealousy coming off Erik in waves. Charles knew next to nothing about motorcycles, but the one parked ahead was a piece of art.

Erik whistled low in his throat and moved as if to touch it. 

“Erik, stop it.” Charles hissed and reached out to halt the teen. Under Charles’ hand, Erik’s muscles rippled. “Transform already. This is obviously the witch’s house and I don’t want you drooling over her bike when she comes out here to kill us.”

With a muttered curse, Erik rolled his eyes. “I know better than that. But when this is over, maybe I can take the bike?”

Charles felt his jaw drop. “You can’t steal from a dead person. That’s just… not right.”

Erik transformed in a flash. Charles automatically reached out and grasped Erik’s hilt.

*How is it not right? She’s an evil soul sucking murdering witch who preys on the innocent. And it’s not like she’s going to need her bike after I’ve consumed her soul. You can be such a spoil sport.* The words reverberated in Charles’ head. *How come you’re allowed to day dream and I’m not even given the opportunity to acquire a finely built machine from a mass murderer?*

Erik sent the sensation of nails on a chalkboard along with his words. Charles hunched his shoulders and huffed.

“You can’t compare them. I don’t think – ”

The front door opened with a groan. Charles froze midsentence and instinctively brought Erik up in a defensive position. The doorway was shadowed, with only the red light of a cigarette visible. 

“What are you doing around here, kid? Get.”

The man’s voice was gravel in his ears. 

He stepped out onto the front porch and Charles blinked. It wasn’t a cigarette the man had clenched between his teeth, but a cigar. Smoke curled up into the air and Charles couldn’t help but scrunch his nose at the pungent smell.

He opened his mouth to respond, but was so surprised no sound emerged.

The man’s hair was a wild mess and while he wasn’t tall, the stained wife beater and jeans he wore did nothing to hide his thick muscles.

“Go on.” He made a shooing motion and Charles realized he held a can of beer in one of his hands. It wasn’t even nine o’clock in the morning.

Had they taken a wrong turn on the path?

“Isn’t it early to be drinking?” He asked automatically. 

The man crunched the empty can in his fist before throwing it to the side. 

“I said go, kid.”

At the mention of the word ‘kid’ again, Charles inwardly bristled. He did not look THAT young. “I am not a kid. And I’m not going. There is a witch here.”

*Move it along, old man.* Erik added, his voice low and cocky. 

The man shut his eyes and sighed. “I can’t believe the school would send you. You’re nothing but children. Get out of here before you get yourselves hurt.”

The man turned as if to leave. 

*Hey!* Erik shouted, and his fury traveled down Charles’ spine like metal cracking against metal. Erik hated being made a fool. *Don’t you dare dismiss us.*

Charles lunged forward in an attempt to pass the man. He was there to capture a witch’s soul, and they wouldn’t be leaving without it. How else was he supposed to turn Erik into one of the most powerful weapons on the earth?

The man swiveled, a sword suddenly in each hand, and the short teen fell back to avoid a slash. He brought Erik up to counter the next strike and danced and ducked as the man tried to use the second sword to catch him in the back. 

No one had mentioned a guardian with a sword. And he was talented; his skill was smooth and effortless. It was clear he had been fighting for years. He was strong enough that Charles had to readjust his grip on Erik and really concentrate on not getting hurt.

Why would a man so talented work for a witch? 

“Erik! We have to be careful. He may be under a spell.”

Erik hissed and roared as he clashed loudly again and again with the man’s swords. Charles rolled through a prickly bush and darted away. Already he was out of breath. 

*Stop being an idiot; he’s aiming to maim you!* Erik voice rang in Charles’ ears.

Charles skittered to avoid another strike and brought Erik up in a sharp thrust. The man jumped, but blood glittered hot red on his shoulder. Charles flicked Erik clean and the weapon purred in his ear. 

Erik loved a challenge and had never made an effort to hide his bloodlust. 

*He’s good.*

Charles said nothing back to Erik but sent an agreeing hum through their connection.

“Stop fighting!” Charles shouted. “Just step aside.”

The man ignored the injury, Charles’ plea, and moved again, this time even faster. He rushed heedlessly, and Charles brought Erik up in self defense. It was clear there was no way he’d be able to dodge. 

The force of the blow made Charles' feet to struggle for balance. The man had used both weapons and the power behind them was enough to make Charles’ arms burn. Charles groaned and hissed. He was going to be sore for days.

He could feel Erik strain against the strike. Erik was powerful, a force to be reckoned with. Other meisters were envious of their partnership and the way they moved together. They had clicked from the beginning and it had been everything Charles had always dreamed of. With Erik he felt like he could take on the entire world.

But this man was so strong, Charles could feel it. Even though blood trailed down his chest, his enemy wasn’t slowing down. It was as if the man couldn’t even feel his injury. 

*We can do this.* Erik whispered fiercely. 

Charles retreated back from the blow and searched for a weakness. His breath wheezed out in huffs and his muscles ached as if he’d run a marathon. 

The man watched him blankly; the wound on his shoulder seemed to shrink as Charles looked on. Witchcraft and an impossibly fast man who carried two swords and a bad attitude. Could the man stop a bullet or use his strength to break bricks? Would he get up after a gunshot wound? He spit out a mouthful of blood carelessly and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Charles was both fascinated and disgusted. 

Whoever he was, he had the witch’s favor. 

They came together in another clash of metal and Charles nearly got his ribs split by a sword. 

*Be careful.* Erik cursed in his ear. Charles could see the serious twist of his partner’s mouth just behind his eyelids. 

He parried with a slash and used his slight frame to his advantage. He just dodged a strike that would have practically severed a leg and ducked deep enough to bring Erik up in another hit.

It was easily countered and Charles danced away before charging again. 

He wasn’t certain how long they’d been fighting, but the entire front yard was filled with evidence. At some point the man had lost his cigar. There were chunks of pavement that had been thrown up and above them the sun started to show between damaged branches. It burned at the back of Charles’ neck. 

There was a tear in Charles’ cardigan and rocks embedded in his knees and elbows. 

*We’re going to have to synch.* Charles sent the words silently along their link. He was past the point of exhaustion and the man wasn’t even winded. He wanted to shout and curse out the world.

Erik’s frustration bubbled. He hated feeling foolish. 

*Yes.* Erik’s voice was clipped beneath the edge of steel. 

He waited a moment to see if the man would attack again, but the man watched warily and remained still.

Charles let the noise that was Erik’s soul fill his ears. It rose in waves that sounded like water, wind chimes, and a finely tuned motor. 

Erik’s soul roared and grew until Charles couldn’t tell where his ended and Erik’s began. It clattered like church bells in his ears.

He wondered how his own soul sounded; despite the years the two of them had worked together, he hadn’t ever gotten up enough nerve to ask. Erik’s soul was beautiful, a machine that moved seamlessly with him. 

When the two of them were sitting around and watching television, sometimes Charles would tune out everything until all he could hear was the strong sure vibration that was at the core of Erik. It was a symphony he never had to share with anyone else.

No one else had heard Erik’s soul; no one else knew how it felt. Erik’s soul was like a giant cat purring loudly in his ears.

He fine tuned his own soul, an action that was second nature, until he felt exposed. They resonated and their power grew and the feedback loop was like a drug in his veins. He could see stars behind his eyes and feel his blood pumping through his heart. 

Power surged between them and Charles pushed it into Erik. The taller teen gasped at the influx. 

This was the true power of a strong partnership; two souls acting as one. Charles felt as if he could destroy worlds.

Immediately, the weapon grew and changed. Erik was a beautiful blade. But transformed during soul resonance? Erik was beyond elegant or refined. He was strange and glorious. 

The hilt distorted until it expanded up Charles’ arm and flared out beyond his elbow. Smooth delicate metal twisted into an intricate puzzle of interlocking pieces. The subtle pattern at the bottom of the pummel flared across the entirety of the hilt, drawing the eye. 

The blade grew impossibly long and unbearably sharp. 

The witch’s man took a half step back in surprise and his eyes widened momentarily. In this form Erik made no logical sense. He should be too heavy to lift, too large to operate. And for most partnerships, resonance wasn't even possible until they had been working together for years, if ever. However, for Charles, Erik was a weightless extension of his body. Charles charged and brought Erik up in a move that would demolish anything in its path. 

Charles trembled even as he slashed. The power was too hard to control; it bounced between them frantically. Charles’ teeth rattled and his heart stuttered in his chest. The force seemed to burn his lungs and leave neon smudges behind his eyes.

It was shameful that even with their combined skills they still didn’t have it perfected.

Erik split the earth with a huge crack like lightening, and debris rained down around them. Smoke rose from the scorched earth and created a cloud of dust around them.

Charles groaned and sank to his knees; he was so tired he thought he might actually pass out. Erik reverted to his original weapon form as the loop of power between them was cut.

The entire front yard was destroyed. 

The burly man was injured. Blood ran like a river from a cut that split him from collarbone to navel. From where he knelt, Charles could see the rise and fall of his ribcage. The scent of copper filled the air and Charles automatically covered his mouth and swallowed back a wave of nausea.

He was going to be sick. 

“No!” A girl in an oversized hat dashed out of the front entrance. She picked her way across the ruined lawn and neared the felled man. 

She sat next him and cried. Her hands came up to touch the man’s shoulder carefully.

“Logan?” The voice was pitiful.

Her gaze flickered to Charles and the sorrow on her face transformed to confusion and anger. “Why did you hurt him? Why would you hurt Logan?”

This close, it was clear she was a witch. There was a streak of white in her dark hair and the hat she wore was topped with black cat ears. She bent over Logan and said a few words under her breath. A glow spread out from her hands and engulfed the injured man

*But - * Erik’s voice sounded confused in Charles’ ears. *How can she be a witch? She’s a baby.*

“I –” Charles swallowed as his mind skipped and tumbled. “I don’t know.”

From the textbooks they read in class, witches feasted on chaos and conspired with those who were consuming human souls. They worked with familiars and were dead set on creating a world in their own image. Besides the telltale hat, the girl looked like any other child. She certainly didn’t look evil.

The protector, because now it was clear just why a witch would need a protector, was injured. This was the moment to make his move. Charles should charge and strike now.

Instead, he unsteadily climbed to his feet.

“Erik.” His voice was breathless and weak.

*What?* 

“I’m not going to murder a child. Even if she is a witch.” Her big eyes watched him warily. 

With a sigh Erik transformed back into human form, cracked his neck, and eyed the young girl with a frown.

“I didn’t know witches could be children. I thought...” Erik trailed off quietly and watched the girl gently shake at the rapidly healing man. “She’s just a kid.”

Charles nodded; he was too upset to speak. It felt as if someone had clawed at his heart. He had nearly killed a man, an obvious father figure, because he hadn't had all the facts. Charles knew what it was like to be a kid and need a protector. He was such a bastard.

Logan groaned and sat up. The slash on his chest had healed to a bright bruise. The witch threw her arms around him and buried her head in his chest.

“Hey now. Shhhhhhhh.” He stood and tucked the girl into his side. In his other hand he still held a sword. “No crying. It’s fine Marie. Shhhhh.” 

Logan spoke quietly to her even as he glared daggers at the two teens. Erik scowled back, nonchalantly crossing his arms and leaning back as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Charles tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t be idiotic.

“Who are you?” Erik asked without looking at Charles. The shorter teen shut his mouth and averted his eyes. 

“I am none of your fucking business.” The words were barely discernible between his teeth.

Marie leaned out from Logan. “Please don’t hurt him. Logan takes care of me.”

Charles’ face blushed in shame. 

“I’m sorry.” He managed to say. “We didn’t know.” He looked around at the ruined front yard and shrugged weakly. “We didn’t know.”

Erik’s hand gently grasped Charles’ wrist. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” 

Charles let his partner pull him away. Logan watched with hard eyes and remained unmoving in the mess of what used to be a lawn. The gaze burned, Charles kept his eyes averted and slouched forward. He swallowed back bile.

“Be careful.” Erik called as back as they walked away. “The Mancinis are coming for her too.”

Logan said nothing.

Charles stumbled after Erik; allowed the taller teen to pull him over huge chunks of earth and around felled trees. As soon as the two of them could no longer see the home, Charles felt his weak knees give. Erik caught him as he sagged. 

“They’re both fine.” Erik spoke in a quiet fierce voice. 

“I just.” His voice was barely audible. “I wanted to kill her.”

Charles breathed heavily, fingers automatically clutching at Erik’s thin shirt. There was a break in the trees above them and the sun beat down hot and high. He blinked heavily and forced himself to straighten.

“You wouldn’t have hurt her Charles.” Erik’s voice was firm.

He smiled weakly and shrugged. “It’s just… witches are all supposed to be bad, right?”

Erik frowned and the two of them continued back down the path.

“I. . .” Erik paused and shook his head. Charles understood just what his partner wasn’t saying. It would never be that simple again. 

“Come on.” Erik ducked back onto the main street and approached his parked bike. Charles trailed after. “Let’s stop at the grocery store and get more ice cream.”

“Ice cream?”  


“Yeah, you know, that food you like to eat." Erik started his bike and Charles stood dumbly next to him. Erik sighed. “You’re going to figure this out Charles.”

“What about you?” 

At his question, Erik glanced away. “I get, worked up, act without thought. I make rash decisions and I hate witches. You know that.”

Charles flexed his fingers nervously before swinging himself up on the bike behind Erik and wrapping his arms around the other teen’s waist. He squeezed tightly and pushed his face into Erik’s back.

“You’re a good person my friend. You are; I know it.”

The weapon laughed weakly.

“I don’t want to kill children Charles. But witches? I want them dead, dead, dead. But if an eight year old witch isn’t evil, what witches are evil? You’re my partner, my meister, and I trust you. So in this, I’m depending on you.”

Charles opened his mouth and closed it. “Okay.” He spoke quietly. There was an added weight on his shoulders coupled with a sense of peace. He would need to think, to research. Maybe things weren’t as black and white as he wanted them to be, but at least now he knew.

“So, were going to go home, eat ice cream, and you’re going to pick some terrible show to marathon. And I’m going to watch it with you.” 

“Without complaining?” Charles asked.

“Don’t push your luck.”

The shorter teen grinned and tilted his head back into the breeze.


End file.
